


More Than Good

by arrow (esteefee)



Series: Slimed [1]
Category: due South
Genre: April Showers Challenge, Crack, First Time, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-12
Updated: 2008-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Er, there's lube. Lots and lots. It's blue, if that helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Good

**Author's Note:**

> For the Lube Challenge: I would like to thank [](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_flashfiction/profile)[](http://community.livejournal.com/ds_flashfiction/)**ds_flashfiction** for this excuse to write a story so wholly untainted by the ravages of good taste.
> 
> [ **vsee**](http://vsee.livejournal.com/) has recorded a [podfic version of this story!](http://jinjurly.com/audio/more-than-good/)

There's a trick to being lonely, and Ray has had plenty of practice fine-tuning his skill. The trick is not to think about it like that— _Christ, I'm lonely._ Instead, he just thinks, _I'm tired,_ or, _I need a foot-long sub,_ or, _thank God the Cubbies are on._

And he's good with that. Sure, sometimes he drinks a beer or two while thinking it. But not three, because then it becomes about the beer, and not about anything else, and that's hopping the express train to Loserville. Ray has been there to visit a few too many times already, like the two years before his divorce, and the two years afterward.

And then Fraser showed up.

Fraser makes him do insane things, and makes him frightened for his freaking life on a daily basis, and keeps _expecting_ shit from him that Ray is pretty sure he can't deliver on, but he never, _never_ makes Ray feel like a loser. Just the opposite.

And it makes things hard. It makes _Ray_ hard. The other day they smacked down four bad guys in one insane rush—Fraser knocking the lid of the dumpster down on the last of them and then flashing Ray this wicked, fast grin before switching into RCMP mode again—and Ray pup-tented his jeans between one heart beat and the next.

It's crazy-making. He decided a long time ago he wasn't going to go this route anymore. Actually, it was while he was attending a Crime Investigation convention back East and he hooked up with this big, buff guy at some kooky concept bar in Hoboken. The place was white-washed and built like a series of caves, all these curving hallways and cul-de-sacs and well-dressed yuppies, and he'd nodded at this one who looked good for it, and the guy nodded back and followed him through the twists until they ended up at a nice, dark dead-end.

"What's your name?" Ray had asked.

"Does it matter?" the guy said, his expression kind of bitter, but he kissed good, real good, and brought Ray off there against the wall, and Ray had knelt and rolled a rubber on him and given him a fast and dirty blow-job, tucked there in the dark, knees aching on the cement floor.

Afterward the guy had left fast, and Ray felt like total crap. Stella had served him with divorce papers just a week before he left, and there he was brushing grit off the knees of his good work suit, with the taste of latex in his mouth, and feeling lonelier than if he'd just spent the night drinking in his hotel room.

It sucked. Guys were worse than women that way. Being alone sucked, too, but he got used to it, got _good_ at it so he could ignore it most of the time, like that ache in his rotator cuff from back when he fell off his motorcycle before Stella made him get rid of it. A just-there ache, not a big deal. Part of life. Part of growing old, maybe, and outliving his marriage.

But now there's Fraser, and Fraser is good for a lot of things, like watching the Cubbies with and rubbing his eyebrow before Ray automatically goes for that third beer. And Fraser drags him out to the park with Dief, where they don't play fetch, because Dief finds that demeaning, but instead he chases the ducks and makes the little kids laugh and Ray laughs, too—catches Fraser grinning.

The weird thing is, Ray isn't lonely anymore. It crept up on him, but when he realizes it, he kind of misses it. Because at least then he knew where things were at. He'd been good—he had a coping strategy, and it worked for him.

But now, with the way he keeps popping boners whenever he and Fraser make a bust or practically whenever he looks at Fraser doing one of his weird Mountie things, like that night he spent two hours polishing his boots while they watched _curling_ for chrissake—Shit, pulling a woody during a curling match has to be the lowest he's ever sunk—Ray starts to get really nervous. Because there's been no sign Fraser feels that way. No sign at all, except he seems to want to spend all his time with Ray, but that could just be a buddy thing. Ray knows Fraser hasn't had a lot of buddies in his life.

So, for all Ray knows, Fraser's going to figure out someday soon that Ray has a present in his pants for him, and what's that going to do to the buddy thing, and the partner thing? Just now, when Ray has gotten _used_ to the guy and totally _unused_ to being good alone?

:::

Their next case is like a trip to Disney World, except in Japan and on acid, what with the whacked, creepy calliope music and the neon lights and the gigantic rotating cutesy mechanical cat. They're trapped inside its mouth, and Fraser is leaning over reading the instructions from the sign in a confused voice that Ray can barely hear over the wildly annoying music.

"I believe it says, 'Tongue-press to enter', Ray."

"It does _not_. Move over, there." But, sure enough, it says _"Wily Kitten will give a ride in swallow! Tongue-press to enter!"_ It does not, however, say anything about how to make the music stop digging into your ears like munchkin ice picks. Or what to do when the diamond smugglers you were hunting for suddenly show up—dressed as Elvis impersonators and packing M-18s—and start shooting. A lot.

Fraser knows, though, because he jumps down onto the cat's tongue, which opens its mouth so they both go spinning down a slick slide into the river of blue goo and over the Dancing Crystal Falls into Lake Moonglow.

Where, of course, they set up their ambush. Apparently it's hell getting blue goo out of a white sequined Elvis costume (sewn with real diamonds) and the three smugglers bitch about it all the way back to the precinct.

"Another case solved, Ray," Fraser says, sounding satisfied. But he's looking down sadly at his brown uniform, which is more a puke green at this point. The slippery goo is like nightmare lube—Ray has to wash his hands three times just to be able to type his report without slipping off the keys.

He shifts in his seat, trying to ease his danger boner, and smothers something that would have been very non-complimentary because he doesn't want to attract the attention of the bullpen to them—or, more specifically, to his blue hair and very pale blue skin. Though Fraser's hair is blue too, it's just dark enough that it only looks blue where it gleams in the light. Kind of like a Superman comic. And for some reason Fraser's skin is now white again as the pure driven snow, which irritates the living _fuck_ out of Ray.

"How come you're not all smurfed out like me?"

"I do beg your pardon, Ray, but...smurfed?"

"I don't know how you do that." Ray waves his blue hands. "I do not know how it is, Fraser, that we both land in a river that was filled with like gallons of blue lube and you come out smelling like lilacs while I am sitting here completely smurfed blue."

"Ah, yes." Fraser starts to twirl his Mountie hat, but it's pukey green-blue as well, which he must know ruins the effect, because he just sighs and lays it on Ray's desk. "I took the opportunity of freshening up while you were doing the bookings. You see, I have a cleaning solvent extracted from elk urine that has proven quite useful—"

"Do not make me puke Fraser. I do not want to puke on top of everything else."

"Of course. But perhaps you would like me to apply some to your...smurfiness? I keep a large bottle of it here at the station for just these types of situations..."

Ray does not want to think of Fraser rubbing him with elk piss. Coconut oil, maybe, in his dreams. Elk piss—no.

"I'll take a pass on that, Frase."

"Are you certain? I promise it's quite safe, and I did leaven the solvent with lilac..." Well, that explains the lilac, and Fraser holds his wrist under Ray's nose and reflexively Ray takes a sniff. Nice. Fraser, and a little lilac. Not pissy at all.

"I can't believe I'm gonna say this...but, yeah, because punk died along with Sid back in '79, you know?"

Fraser stares at him blankly. Followed by a blink.

"I can't have blue hair, Fraser."

"Ah, yes. Well, it would be my pleasure, Ray." Fraser looks positively happy at the prospect of rubbing Ray's hair with elk piss. Which, under normal circumstances, Ray would think is pretty weird, but it's already been a freaky day, start to finish, so Ray just nods like a dummy and finishes typing his report.

"Was that the Blue Lagoon where we hit them with the cement papayas?"

"I believe it was Lake Moonglow, Ray."

"Okay, good. Jesus." Ray finishes up and signs it, staples it, and sticks it in the done box on Welsh's desk, meanwhile thanking God Welsh is out playing miniature golf with the Commissioner at the moment and not there to make sarcastic noises about Ray's new look.

"C'mon, Fraser. We gotta skedaddle before the mighty Duck Duo gets back and sees me like this."

"Right you are, Ray."

Ray grabs his coat. "We'll do it at my place, okay? I don't want any funny looks from Turnbull."

He hears Fraser mumbling something to the wolf on the way out. " _No, of course not...well, if you are so contemptuous...vaunted self-control, indeed. Why don't **you** wash his hair?"_

Which makes no sense at all, because Dief doesn't even have hands, but Ray has pretty much given up on translating Fraser/wolf dialog because it gives him a headache, and also because he's picked up on the fact Fraser seems to think of it as almost privileged communications or something. A perp and his lawyer—Fraser and his wolf. Or maybe it's the other way around.

Back at Ray's apartment, Dief goes off to nap by the turtle. Ray peels off his holster (blue) and shirt (also blue) and takes one look before dumping the shirt in the garbage. Fraser has already taken off his Sam Browne and is standing over the sink rubbing it down with that bottle of elk piss stuff. When he finishes, he swivels his head toward Ray, his body turning a second afterward to finish the one-eighty, but then without a pause he completes the circle, spinning back toward the sink and putting his hands there.

Ray wonders for a second what's going on in the freaky Mountie's mind, then realizes he's automatically stripped to his (blue) boxers. Ha—Fraser is embarrassed. It's nice to think he can get under Fraser's skin that way. At least a little.

"Didn't mean to shock ya," Ray says, but Fraser interrupts over him, "Ray...you're _blue_."

"Well, yeah, Frase. Where were you when they passed that memo?"

"I mean...all over."

Ray gets it. Because of Fraser's miracle Mountie shield, his Henley is only splotched with blue, especially around the cuffs and neck.

"You have a problem with blue?" For some reason Ray feels like pushing it for once.

Fraser cracks his neck sharply then lifts his chin. "Of course not. Shall we?" He picks up his bottle of elk piss stuff.

Ray grabs a chair from the kitchen table, suddenly feeling like he's been caught out on a dare. But if Fraser isn't backing down, no way he will. Ray carries the chair to the bathroom and sets the back against the sink. Then he hooks up the spray nozzle he uses to rinse when he does his hair bleaching routine, and drops it in the sink. The red and white vinyl squeaks against his bare skin as he sits down and tilts his head back. Raising his eyes, he sees Fraser standing there, a totally unreadable expression on his face.

"Let's get at 'er, Frase. Blue is not a good look for me."

"Yes, of course." But Fraser doesn't move. "Are you sure you're quite comfortable?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Ray closes his eyes. "Hit me."

Fraser's shadow blocks the light, then the water turns on, faucets squeaking. There's a faint spatter on Ray's face as Fraser picks up the sprayer, and then Fraser's hand is on Ray's head.

He's touching Ray's head.

Shivers run through his scalp and down the back of Ray's spine, because maybe this is very stupid, maybe this was a bad idea to begin with, and now it's proving even worse, because the blunt tips of Fraser's fingers are rubbing into his hair now, letting the water in and working those quivers straight down to Ray's cock.

Sure, he's gotten hard thinking about Fraser, looking at Fraser, but this was on a totally different level. This is Fraser touching him, scratching gently, and then he lifts his hands for a second, shutting off the water, and there's that lilac smell as Fraser scrubs harder, working his scalp.

Ray trembles a little.

"Is this all right?" Fraser sounds shaky, too, which makes Ray's eyes pop open.

"This is fine, this is greatness—"

"Please keep your eyes closed, Ray," Fraser says, his face flushed. "It's safer."

Sure, that makes sense, but Ray hears the something else under it, a second-meaning kind of thing that almost makes him lurch upright. He forces himself to close his eyes and pretend to relax. He gets his reward, because Fraser starts scrubbing his scalp again. His fingers reach the back of Ray's head, and Ray winces.

"Ray, you have a bump—"

"Yeah. Got it when we were sliding down that chute thing."

"Ah." Fraser's hands go gentle on him, so soft right there where it hurts. _Jesus_. Gentle. Big, gentle hands rubbing his scalp, lifting the hair on the back of his neck to get it wet, and Ray's cock twitches in his shorts.

"It appears to be working, Ray." There's still that funny note in Fraser's voice, and Ray's getting a feeling now, but he doesn't want to spook the horses or even the Mounties, so he keeps his eyes closed but makes a happy groaning sound, letting how good it feels come right out of his mouth. Fraser's hands falter for a second.

"I'll just—it's time to rinse—" Fraser turns the water back on, sends the warm spray floating over Ray's head, and he feels one of Fraser's hands on his forehead sheltering his eyes.

Greatness would be a total understatement.

The rinse-down continues, Fraser's fingertips rubbing around Ray's ears, the back of his neck, careful again around the bump because Fraser remembers these things, Fraser is perfect, and Ray _Mmms_ again—he can't help himself. He arches his back a little, feeling weirdly sluttish, but if this is his shot, he's going to take it. No telling when this door might open again.

Fraser shuts off the water and towels his hair a little. Then cool air hits Ray's face. When he opens his eyes again, Fraser's face is completely red, and he's staring down at Ray as if he were an alien. Which, considering the blue—not such a stretch.

"You're—" Fraser clears his throat. "You're all done, Ray."

"Okey dokey," Ray says, and stands up, which puts him right in Fraser's space, right up against the wall of his firm chest.

"You—you look quite astonishing," Fraser says hoarsely. "Like a fairy."

"What?" Ray's brain goggles on that, fortunately long enough for Fraser to clarify.

"Like something out of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ ," he says. "One of Titania's fairies. All you need is some glitter and a couple of wings." And Fraser isn't backing away. He doesn't seem to mind that Ray's sudden, raging hard-on is radiating heat like nobody's business and brushing against Fraser's thigh.

Ray just stands there, thinking— _This is it, oh my God—_ and— _Touch me, touch me and I'll show you a goddamned fairy—_ and then Fraser does it, he lifts his hand and draws his finger along Ray's cheek, his expression still wondering. Ray gasps and makes a really embarrassingly sexy sound, and Fraser's eyes just go hot and he leans forward, his head tilted as if he's about to ask a question.

But his lips ask it for him, hot lips suddenly pressing against Ray's, and with a groan Ray starts kissing back as if his mouth is on a separate microcircuit from his brain, which is totally stuck on _Holy crap, kissing me, kissing me, Fraser is—_

Fraser pushes him back, and his hand is cradling the back of Ray's head, which is a good thing because about a second later Ray hits the bathroom wall, and then he is being crushed against it by Fraser's chest, and by Fraser's hips, which are grinding up against his, very close and personal-like. Which is how Ray finally gets with the program and figures out that Fraser really is hard for him. Fraser wants him. Maybe, yeah, because he looks like a Fairy. But who gives a shit when that's Fraser's big, firm thigh pushed between his, giving him a place to rub off against?

Fraser mumbles something between kisses, but Ray can't really hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. Something like, "God. Oh, God. Can you really—?" And he thrusts his tongue in Ray's mouth for a second, then says, "Do you really want this?" Fraser holds Ray's face in his hands. "Do you want me? Do you want me, Ray?"

 _Christ, Fraser,_ Ray thinks, and Fraser tries to start kissing him again, but Ray has to pull him closer than that and drop his chin over Fraser's shoulder, hug him hard, really get some muscle into it, because this is _it_. They are together. In each other's arms and hanging on, Fraser's breath huffing in his ear in Morse code. Not an SOS, though.

"Yeah, Fraser, yeah, really," Ray says, "Jesus, are you stupid?" And Fraser laughs, this sharp bite of sound that sounds almost painful, and then they are kissing again, and Fraser is maneuvering them both out of the bathroom, banging them against walls and door sills and finally the edge of the bed.

The thing Ray will remember later is thinking he's glad the sheets are already blue. That, and the incredible image of Fraser stripping himself with almost maniacal efficiency, so that _zip, yank, bang!_ he is naked, with streaks of blue on his pale-pale skin. Then he's pulling off Ray's boxers, a little more carefully, and Fraser stops dead, kneeling over him and staring down with this smile on his face. His hands come up and draw down Ray's throat, and Ray arches his back. Fraser flattens his palms against Ray's chest, rubbing his nipples before going straight for Ray's cock.

Ray groans at the perfect tightness of Fraser's grip on him, and spreads his legs like a whore.

"What do you want?" Fraser says roughly, and if he really wants a coherent answer he shouldn't be stroking Ray's cock like that.

But Ray's mouth is still on microcircuit because it opens up and he says, "Fuck me. Fuck me, Fraser, please you have to—"

Fraser doesn't wait for the rest; he just lunges down and fucks Ray's mouth with his tongue. Ray sucks and squirms and, Christ, he's about to go off, this is no good at all. So he pushes Fraser away and turns over to dig through his bedside drawer.

It's there, like he remembered it, like he'd been thinking about ever since the river, and ever since he felt Fraser's hands in his hair and heard Fraser's voice shake. Ray grabs it and holds it out, almost afraid to look at Fraser's face.

Fraser reads the label and raises an eyebrow. "Are you quite sure—?"

"Oh, yeah. It _works_ , believe me."

And Ray thought Fraser couldn't look any hotter, but suddenly his eyes just _gleam_ at him, and he pops the top on the blue mint lube and dribbles some out. He rubs his fingers together and both his eyebrows go up this time. Ray laughs.

"Don't give me shit," he says. "I'm not the one who bought it. Ste—"

Fraser shuts him up by reaching down rubbing the stuff right _there_ , right around Ray's hole, and— _yeah, fuck!—_ it tingles like you wouldn't believe, just on the right side of perfect. Then Fraser's fingers are sliding inside, coming out, spreading it around, and Ray's asshole is cold and hot and he's shivering as Fraser finger-fucks him, still staring down at him with this disbelieving smile.

"I knew you Americans weren't quite all there—"

"Shut up and hand me the lube," Ray gasps. Fraser gives it over, and Ray figures it's time for a little payback. He slicks up his palm and then reaches out for Fraser's cock.

Fraser's eyes have a split second to widen and then Ray has his cock in his hand.

"Dear Lord," Fraser says, and he almost falls over, putting a palm down on the mattress.

"Exactly. You hit it precisely, Fraser." Ray strokes Fraser with the tingly blue stuff coating his hand, getting it all over the shaft but avoiding the head, because he figures that would be a little too much, but Fraser grabs his hand and moves it up over the crown, and then shudders, his eyes closing.

"Freak," Ray says breathlessly, stroking him a little harder. Fraser looks—well, fucking gorgeous, his cheeks flushed, his hair dark and glowing slightly blue. His eyelids flutter with the movement of Ray's hand.

"Stop. Ray, stop." Fraser sounds frantic all of a sudden. Ray eases off, and he rolls over to his belly, spreading his legs. He can hear Fraser behind him, feel the weight of him dipping the bed between his thighs. Fraser leans over him on one elbow, his knee pushing Ray's leg higher, and then it's there, the head of Fraser's cock, snubbing tight against his asshole.

He feels Fraser's mouth at the back of his neck, and then he doesn't feel anything at all but Fraser's cock, opening him up, moving in mercilessly.

"Jesus," Fraser says, buzzing against his neck. Ray can't agree more. He's never felt anything like this, never _wanted_ anything like he wants this, Fraser filling him up so smooth and hard and fucking inevitable. The tingle has eased off, but Ray gets a new and better one when Fraser bumps right over his sweet spot, making him jerk and moan.

He almost expects Fraser to stop, but Fraser isn't stopping for anything, apparently, until he's sunk all the way in, until Ray feels like he is stretched around every inch of him, and there is nothing but Fraser inside and Fraser on top, plastered against him.

Ray feels his body squeeze and relax, adjusting on its own, and Fraser groans against his neck like Ray just shot him.

"Yeah, that's it," Ray says. Christ, his voice is raw. "Come on and take it, Fraser."

Fraser groans again like Ray is hurting him, and then— _Thank God_ —he starts to move, pushing so powerfully Ray has to brace himself against the hard thrust of Fraser's cock inside him, moving inside him so perfectly that he makes a sound he's never heard himself make before.

But it's okay, because Fraser's making sounds, too, hot ones, and his mouth is warm and damp against Ray's neck as he keeps thrusting hard in and pulling out smooth like a machine. Like a machine made for fucking. Ray doesn't think he's ever felt anything as perfect as Fraser moving so thick inside him.

Ray has his eyes closed and arches back into the rhythm, and he gets the start of that tingle that means a mind fuck of an orgasm is on its way. Fraser's hand comes over his shoulder to clasp his wrist, so he's being held tight as Fraser starts to rev up, really moving now, pumping with shallower thrusts against his sweet spot over and over. Ray tries to shake his hand loose to touch himself, but Fraser is already letting go to squeeze his hand under Ray's shaft, his thumb resting under the ridge of Ray's cock, and God, that feels good, that's just perfect right there, because every time Fraser thrusts, Ray's cock gets pushed against the hard palm of his hand.

And then Fraser rubs his thumb right _there_ and Ray comes before he's ready for it, totally off guard and shaking, drooling against the pillow as he shouts. He feels himself spurting forever, like he has an entire reservoir trapped in his nuts. Every time he pulses he feels his ass squeezing down, and he can't remember coming harder in his fucking _life_.

Fraser is moaning something against his neck again—Ray might have prune skin there—and he's still fucking him—Ray doesn't think he'll ever stop. Ray's ass might be sore later, but right now it still feels so fucking sweet, it's still giving him little shocks of _yeah, yeah, yeah_.

But Ray guesses even Superman has to come eventually, because Fraser suddenly slows down and then slams down hard, one-two-three times, and stops. He doesn't make a sound but Ray can feel it inside—new warm slippery in there—and finally Fraser lets out his breath in this long, low moan.

"Ray. Ray," Fraser whispers. He suddenly feels about fifty pounds heavier, and Ray is having a little trouble getting his breath. So he slides out from under, and Fraser rests a sticky hand on the middle of Ray's back.

They lie there for a while. Ray figures Fraser is down for the count, but Fraser turns towards him and just hauls him over until they're face to face.

It's hard to look at Fraser now that the heat has died, because this is just too fucking unreal—the whole day has been, from the river of blue goo on—but Ray opens his eyes and checks Fraser's expression.

He looks worried, that's the first thing. Well, yeah, Fraser rode him pretty hard, but Ray doesn't think that's what the wrinkle is about. And if Fraser isn't going to say it, then Ray should, because Fraser made the first move. That took sheer balls, really, considering how good they've both been at hiding.

"I—" And hell, when had mice attacked his vocal chords? "I've been wanting this."

"Me, too," Fraser says quickly, practically before Ray finishes. "For a long time, Ray. For forever, it seems."

"Good, that's good. 'Cause, um, me, too."

Fraser's eyes crinkle. "I never would have guessed."

"Well, I'm good at that. You kind of have to be, you know?"

"I know." Fraser brushes his cheek with a thumb. "But not anymore."

Ray feels himself go limp with relief. "So, we're on, then. You and me?"

"You and me, Ray." Fraser sounds funny, like the mice have been at him, too. "I would like that very much."

Ray's heart does something crazy. It's a little too much; makes him feel like he can't trust it so soon, except when has ever not trusted Fraser? Even when things are a lot more ridiculous than this. This is just two guys not being so lonely, and maybe having something good together.

"We're gonna have to get some more of that lube," Ray says, yawning.

Fraser laughs. "A whole lot more, I should think."

Hell, maybe even something more than good.

................  
2008.02.12

**Author's Note:**

> [The blue lube (with minty tingle!)](http://arrow00.com/dropbox/bluelube.jpg)


End file.
